“Don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong place?” he said. “I was sure she said Revigny. She did. She’s a VAD here. Blond. Her friend’s called Kit.”
The VAD’s face cleared. “Oh, Kit! Yes, I know Kit. She has got a friend with blond hair, now I come to think of it. They share a room. We’ve been so absolutely rushed off our feet, we’ve hardly had time to draw breath, let alone introduce ourselves to each other.”
“Nurse!” one of the patients called, and she turned away.
“Sorry I can’t help. I haven’t seen either of them today. Why don’t you ask Sister Palmer?”
“Where’ll I find her?”
“She has her lair in the office just near the kitchens,” she said, moving off. “To the right of the stairs. You can’t miss it.”
“Lair?” he repeated, but she’d gone, so he picked up his bag again and ventured inside.
It was dark inside the ancient stone interior, compared to the brightness of the sunshine outdoors. Dirk stood in the echoing hallway for a moment, looking around him, then knocked on what he hoped was the right door.
“Enter!” came a barked command from inside, and he went in cautiously.
The woman seated behind the desk looked as if she were in her mid-thirties, though since her long nurse’s cap covered every scrap of her hair as efficiently as a nun’s habit, it was impossible to be sure. Her face was stern; the last time Dirk could remember anybody looking at him quite like that was back at school after he’d decided to play hooky for a day and got found out. Even the editor at the newspaper back in New York was less intimidating.
“Sister Palmer?” Feeling about eight years old, Dirk tried a smile, but without much hope.
“Yes?” The steel gaze traveled to his bag before returning to his face. “You are…?”
“Dirk Loreson, ma’am.” He considered holding out his hand but in the end decided not to in case she refused to take it. “I’m acquainted with Eleanor Martin and Kit, I mean Katherine…Ballatine, I think it is. In fact, Eleanor saved my life on The Sussex.” Sister Palmer’s expression failed to thaw. Dirk decided brevity was his best policy. “The point is, I’d like to see them to pay my respects, and I wondered if they were around.”
“I’m afraid our girls aren’t allowed male visitors,” the woman told him icily. “This is a hospital, not a tea dance.” Her eyes fell once again to his bag. “And it most certainly isn’t a hotel.”
It was very difficult to keep on smiling. “Oh, I wasn’t planning to stay, ma’am, don’t worry. I just popped in on my way to take up my work; I’m a reporter from the Washington Post.”
“I shouldn’t care if you were the Minister for War himself,” she barked. “The girls aren’t permitted to have male visitors, and that is that.”
Dirk colored. He wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a way. “Eleanor saved my life, ma’am,” he said again, coldly this time. “I just want to thank her. I’ve come a long way and—”
Sister Palmer began to leaf through a bundle of papers on her desk. “Mr. Loreson, I have a great deal of work to do, and I believe I have made my position on this matter more than clear.”
Dirk’s frustration crystallized into anger. “Well, forgive me for taking up your valuable time, ma’am, won’t you? You see I was under the impression that this was a hospital, and that girls like Eleanor and Kit had volunteered their services. Seems I was wrong about that. Seems it’s a prison and you’re the prison warden. Pardon me.” Speech over, he doffed his hat in a gesture that was one hundred percent pure sarcasm and turned on his heel, leaving her—he sincerely hoped—crimson-faced and furious.
Which was all very satisfying and exactly what the bitch of a woman deserved, but it didn’t help him to find Eleanor.
A nurse rattled by with a trolley of tea-making equipment, pushing open a door to what was obviously a ward. Dirk was just considering whether to go in and have a look for Eleanor when the nurse he’d spoken to outdoors came in through the main entrance.
“Oh, I say,” she said brightly, “I’ve just been speaking to my friend Valerie, and she says Kit and Eleanor have gone into the village. It’s their afternoon off.”
Dirk smiled. “Thanks. For that bit of information I’ll even forgive you for advising me to go into the lair.”
She laughed. “Sorry.” She lowered her voice. “Isn’t she the absolute end? Be thankful you can go away from here and forget all about her. We have to put up with it all the time.”
“You have my deepest sympathy.” He grinned, sketching a farewell salute with his hand. “And thanks again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Walking back along the winding driveway, it didn’t take long for Dirk to regret his outburst in Sister Palmer’s office. True, the woman was appalling and deserved all he’d given her and a lot more besides, but Eleanor and Kit had to work with the woman. He hoped he hadn’t unintentionally made life more difficult for them.
Still, it was a damn good job it’d been him who’d seen her, rather than Jimmy. Normally amiable and easy-going, Jimmy would have been seeing red dealing with someone like Sister Palmer. He’d probably have socked the old witch in the jaw.
Though, of course, nobody would be getting Jimmy riled any longer. Dirk sighed sadly, hitching his bag more comfortably onto his shoulder. Then he turned a corner and left the abbey behind him.
While Kit was busy trying to arrange to have her hair cut, Eleanor went for a stroll along the lane beyond the village where she found that the hedgerows were coming into leaf and the air was filled with birdsong. It was beautiful and tranquil despite the incessant booming of the guns aimed at Verdun, but, although Eleanor appreciated the peace and quiet, it was at the same time very strange compared to the constant bustle of hospital life. And even as she strolled along, Eleanor knew it would be business as usual back at the abbey. The only reason they’d been spared for an afternoon off now was because two VADs had recently been sent to Sick Sisters suffering from exhaustion. It was a case of prevention before a cure became necessary.
Stopping at a gate, she rested against it and looked sightlessly into the field beyond. Kit had been thrilled by the prospect of having some time off; so thrilled she’d donned her full uniform without complaint, abandoning her plans to make a stand about the relaxation of dress rules for off-duty VADs.
A bird began to sing in a tree next to the path, a bright clear song that made Eleanor smile. It was nice to be away from the hospital, enjoying some peace and quiet, although Eleanor couldn’t help remembering that because she was here, strolling along this French lane, someone else would be changing Lazare’s dressing this afternoon. And the truth was, she was becoming very worried about Lazare. Despite all their efforts, he seemed to have contracted some sort of infection in one of his wounds and was in even more pain than ever as a result. When she’d changed his dressing the previous afternoon, he hadn’t even bothered to speak, let alone crack any jokes. Eleanor now wondered whether she ought to have reported her concerns to Sister Palmer.
Although, she could almost hear the Sister’s response if she had. “Goodness me, Miss Martin, of course the man’s depressed with the injuries he’s got. All the casualties are depressed. And I must say life would be a good deal easier for Monsieur Lazare if he gave us some co-operation!” No, Sister Palmer wouldn’t have taken kindly to a mere VAD with ideas above her station.
Eleanor didn’t envy Sister Palmer’s load of responsibility. Not only was she extremely busy with organizational duties, she also assisted in the operating theater and had responsibility with the matron for all the nurses and VADs in her charge, most of whom were away from home for the first time and possessed varying levels of training. Let alone a tendency to catch colds, become exhausted, or fall in love with their patients. All this without the sheer numbers of the casualties and the awesome challenge of the treatment and dressing of bodies torn and pitted by shrapnel.
No, Eleanor didn’t envy Sister Palmer her responsibilities. She did, howeve
r, envy her work with the doctor in the operating theater. Surgery had always fascinated her, and to be actually assisting at an operation, to watch a talented surgeon at work…It would be almost as exciting as being the one performing the operation oneself.
Eleanor straightened, smiling at herself. As a woman, she would only ever be able to imagine what it would be like to perform an operation. It was her job to do the very best she could within the spheres that were open to her. Just being here in any capacity at all was so very much more than she could have imagined six months ago. One month ago. A shiver ran down her spine, and she hugged her arms about her body, turning back toward the village. She refused to think about a month ago. A month ago was another country. What mattered was now.
The wind had changed direction, bringing with it the sounds of war. Clearly, a new bombardment was in progress. The bird stopped singing and flew off. Eleanor began to walk again. Ahead, an old man was approaching her along the lane. As he drew near, she saw he was leading a pig along on a piece of string. As they passed each other, he gave her a toothless smile. “Ça va, mademoiselle?” he asked in his guttural French, and she smiled back.
“Oui, merci.”
He nodded and went on his way, the pig trotting after him, and, turning to watch their waddling retreat, Eleanor had the desire to give way to hysterical laughter. A few miles away, men and buildings were being pulverized, and back at the hospital the doctor was still making life and death decisions about how to best treat his patients with his limited resources. But here, in this lane, an elderly French farmer was taking his pig for a walk in the afternoon sunshine.
Life was bizarre, to say the least, and she made a mental note to tell Lazare about it when she saw him next. It was just the sort of thing that would appeal to him.
“Eleanor, I say, over here! Where’ve you been?” It was Kit, waiting for her outside the village shop and looking impatient.
“Sorry, I went for a walk.”
“I’ve been waiting for you! The hairdresser couldn’t see to me straight away, so I’ve to go back in half an hour. I thought we could treat ourselves to coffee and cakes. There’s a little café place just up here. If anyone deserves a treat, it’s us!”
The coffee and cakes were indeed a treat compared to the food served up at the hospital in the mausoleum of a refectory. As she ate, Eleanor felt herself start to truly relax at last, Kit’s chatter washing over her like a balmy breeze. She’d probably been in need of this break, physically if not mentally.
The café was crowded. They’d been lucky to get a table, and its occupants were mostly French troops, although there was a sprinkling of what Eleanor took to be locals as well. It was interesting to absorb an atmosphere so different from that of the hospital.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Kit was saying. “I had a letter from my brother this morning. He’s due a few days leave, and guess what? He’s coming to visit me on his way to Paris!”
“That’s nice.” Eleanor spoke distractedly, sipping at her coffee. Over in the far corner, a good-humored argument seemed to be taking place between two French soldiers. From what she could gather, it had something to do with whose turn it was to pay for the coffee. She listened in, concentrating in order to understand as much as possible. It would be something else to tell Lazare about.
“It’s better than nice; it’s fabulous!” Kit enthused. “And I’ve told him all about you, you know. He can’t wait to meet you. He’s most dreadfully handsome; you’ll be quite smitten.”
Eleanor sighed, abandoning her eavesdropping. She sincerely hoped that attempts at matchmaking between her and Kit’s brother wouldn’t become another one of Kit’s projects. Kit spoke of her brother all the time, and Eleanor knew they were very close. It was difficult to see how she would be able to get out of meeting him. All she could do was hope her off-duty time wouldn’t coincide with his visit. She may be good friends with Kit now, but there was no way the dashing-sounding Edward would be interested in a shy vicar’s daughter, even if that vicar’s daughter wanted him to be interested in her, which she didn’t.
“I wonder if he’ll be able to get me a dress or two?” Kit said, oblivious to Eleanor’s true feelings. “Not that it would do me any good.” She sighed, heavily. “Beastly rules and regulations.” Then suddenly she was almost dropping her coffee cup, her mouth opening with surprise. “Oh, my goodness! Eleanor!”
“What is it?” As accustomed as she was by now to her friend’s dramatics, Eleanor was still alarmed by Kit’s startled expression. She glanced toward the French soldiers to see whether they’d resorted to blows to settle their dispute, but they seemed calm enough. In any case, Kit wasn’t looking in their direction. Moreover, her face was now split in two by a huge smile as she stood.
“Oh, Eleanor!” she said happily. “Look, over there! It’s Dirk.” And the next moment, Kit was on her feet with her arms outstretched, drawing every gaze to her as she hurried across the café.
Dirk! Amidst catcalls and utterances of approval from the French soldiers for Kit’s enthusiasm, Eleanor felt herself grow warm. Could he really be here? With suddenly trembling hands, she slowly replaced her cup into its saucer and turned to face the café door. There he was, standing in the entrance.
“Oh, Dirk, how simply marvelous to see you!” Kit was exclaiming, throwing her arms around him.
“Hello, Kit!” he replied, pulling her into his embrace. Then, equally warmly, he smiled at Eleanor over Kit’s head.
Eleanor found her heart was racing. He was alive. Not only was he alive, he was here in the village. He and Jimmy had said they would visit, but in truth, she had never expected to see him again. And now he was here, and she felt overwhelmed by shyness.
Despite the torpedo attack and the ever constant threat that the ship would sink, everything had been straightforward and simple on board The Sussex. Dirk had been injured and in need of her help, and she had given it, that was all. There had been no time to concern herself with the fact that the act of saving his life would bring her into lengthy close physical contact with him; she’d just done what she had to do. But because she had, she knew some intimate details about him—that his hair was soft where it grew against his neck, and his jaw was rough with a growth of stubble. That his voice could be gentle but insistent, and his expression almost overwhelmingly direct. That he used some sort of cologne when he shaved.
“Goodness, you dear man!” Kit was exclaiming. “How good it is to see you. And you seem quite recovered! D’you know we weren’t even absolutely sure whether you were alive or dead?” She turned to look in Eleanor’s direction, calling to her across the café as if they were the only ones in there. “Oh, Eleanor, isn’t this too marvelous?”
Still feeling shy, Eleanor got to her feet and walked over to them, her eyes taking in the neatly healed wound on his neck and the gray, piercing eyes she remembered so well. It would never be possible to hide anything from such eyes; her nervousness would show the minute she was near enough for him to see it.
“Eleanor. Hi.” He wasn’t smiling either now.
“Hello, Dirk.”
Kit looked at them in puzzlement. “Goodness, how very formal you both are,” she said, and now Dirk did smile.
“I spent almost three weeks in a hospital in London,” he said. “Maybe I caught some of your British reserve.”
“Never suffered from it myself,” Kit proclaimed, and suddenly they were both laughing.
“Now that I can believe!” Dirk joked, and Kit smiled.
“Oh, it really is so good to see you. We were only speaking of you the other day, weren’t we, Eleanor? Let’s order some more coffee. And you must have a cake, Dirk. They’re wickedly delicious.”
The coffee and cakes were duly requested and brought, and between mouthfuls, Dirk told them both about his encounter with Sister Palmer, which inspired Kit to launch into a tirade of anecdotes and complaints. Eleanor watched intently but listened with scant attention, her hands folded together on t
he table. She had declined further coffee, not trusting her hands to hold the cup without clattering it into the saucer. It was silly to feel so nervous around him, but she couldn’t help it. A part of her wanted to make some excuse to return to the hospital, but a bigger part wanted to know what had happened to Dirk after she and Kit had left him on The Sussex. She really wished Kit would stop talking about their experiences at the abbey. They would need to be getting back there before too long, and Dirk had hardly had the chance to say anything.
Almost as if Kit had suddenly realized the same thing, she suddenly broke off in mid-sentence with a glance at the clock on the café wall. “Goodness, my hair appointment!” she said. “I almost forgot. Damn!” Kit’s face was a sea of conflicts, and she looked at Dirk appealingly. “Dirk, you won’t be offended if I slip away for twenty minutes, will you? I almost wish I hadn’t made the blasted hair appointment now you’ve turned up, but luxuries are few and far between here, as I expect you can imagine.”
Eleanor’s heart began to hammer again. Kit was planning to leave. She and Dirk would be alone.
“No, you go right ahead.” Dirk smiled. “Although your hair looks nice as it is.”
Kit smiled, shaking her head. “It’s very sweet of you to say so, but I know it’s a perfect mess.” She got to her feet. “Tell Dirk all about our furniture, Eleanor. We have a uniquely hand-crafted bedroom suite, Dirk.”
There was silence for a while after she’d gone. Eleanor could sense Dirk looking at her and cleared her throat. “It…it’s packing cases,” she said, speaking to the tabletop. “The furniture, I mean. Mr. Jenkins, one of the orderlies…improvised.”
When Dirk made no reply, she looked up and found him smiling at her. Only it was a different kind of smile—not the smile that had been on his face when he’d complimented Kit on her hair, but a smile so full of warmth, it left her feeling totally overwhelmed.
“It’s so good to see you again,” he said. He paused, then added, “You and Kit.”
Eleanor straightened her plate. “Yes,” she said. “I…I’m very glad you’ve quite recovered.”
A Nightingale in Winter Page 8
